Above, friends and family wonder
why she won�t climb out.

They drop rope, each knot
a portal to Aspen, Key Largo, the Pocanos�
They remind her of the metal ladder
clattered down the stone; how each rung
represents a promotion, her loving husband,
her kept house, her obedient dog�

The rope frays in the slow, rising water--
cold at first, but everything below
the naval is numb now. One adapts to split
conditions, learns to detach the body

from the mind. She cannot grasp rungs
of apparition, or scale a wall formed from airs.

Look how lovely it is today!
A blue heron built a nest by the pond
and the aroma of apple blossoms sticks to your skin.
The beauty you could see, if only you would look.

A thunderhead hovers over the well.


� 2004 by Jenni Russell